Sherwood
by Oparu
Summary: It's an AU where John Sheppard is Robin Hood and Elizabeth is not quite a damsel in distress. Slight SG1 crossover.


"She's a woman," Mitchell gaped and started to chuckle as he held her mask in his hands. It was still warm only moments after being ripped off the face of the lithe thief they'd captured coming out of Nottingham. The black cloth fluttered to the ground and her eyes danced like burning embers as she stared down her captors.

"Surely you've seen one before," she spat towards the ground at Mitchell's feet.

"Only once or twice for him," Zelenka teased his compatriot with a pat on the shoulder. "We're poor country folk who can't afford to be spending all our meager coin on wenches."

"Speak for yourself!" Lorne interjected as he dropped from the nearby tree to join the group on the edge of the forest. "As I always say, money is for what the forest cannot provide," he paused for effect, "Liquor and women." He elbowed the Czech and they both began to laugh heartily.

"You're useless, the pair of you," Mitchell scoffed and made sure the rope around the woman's dainty wrists was tight enough. "We're going to have to take you back to camp. Our leader's been wanting a word with you."

"Believe me, I have a few choice words for him," she snapped back irritably as she pulled against the rope. It was solid around her wrists and she was not going to be able to free herself.

"Come on you louts," Mitchell called over his shoulder as he started back into the dark forest. "Stop your chortling and get back to camp."

Lorne and Zelenka fell in eventually a few steps behind, but their laughter echoed in the black trees all the way to the river. The great river tore through Sherwood like a ancient creature, wailing over rocks and hissing into caverns as it went. The river was the last barrier before Sheppard's camp. He'd long believed anyone who could get past it without being swept away either knew the secret or was lucky enough to deserve an audience.

Zelenka and Lorne choked away their teasing of each other and grew quiet as they prepared for the perilous crossing. Normally they'd take the secret way into camp, but with a prisoner along they didn't dare expose it. That meant the long scramble across slimy rocks and frigid water and neither of them was looking forward to it.

"Can we just leave her here?" Zelenka hoped as he tightened his boots over his knickers.

"Tie her to a tree in the dark?" Mitchell asked sardonically as he lifted a glinting knife to her throat. "Wait for the wolves to get her?"

"He didn't mean that," Lorne defended his companion as he slung his bow carefully over his shoulders. "We don't want anything to happen to her."

"Course not," Mitchell muttered as he stared deep into the steely green eyes of his captive. "Zelenka, you first, Lorne, you'll follow, stay close and if she gets away from me--" he left the end unsaid.

"They might not be able to catch me," the captive murmured as Mitchell untied her bonds and held her tight against his chest with the knife still on her throat.

"If you're loose in Sherwood Sheppard will find you with his bow," Mitchell promised her with dead certainty. "That, or his demons will."

"Demons?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Moors who returned with him from Jerusalem," Mitchell explained as he felt along the slippery rocks with his feet, dragging his captive with him. "I've seen all manner of fighters, crusaders, celts, knights and witches but nothing fights like them."

"Is their flesh as dark as night? Their eyes so deep and endless that you'll never return once you stare into the abyss?" Her voice had a mocking lilt that made her sound beautiful instead of fierce.

"As close as you'll see on this Earth," Mitchell replied with the same serious calm he'd held to since capturing her. He brought her across the rest of the wide river in silence, needing to concentrate doubly on placing his feet and keeping them both above water.

A few meters from shore she slammed her elbow as hard as she could into his stomach, braved the knife on her throat and tried to slip from his grasp into the river. Mitchell feared for a moment that she'd succeed. He didn't want to kill her and somehow she'd started to sense that. She was a good fighter and obviously very intelligent if she'd survived so many raids on Nottingham without being captured. That hesitation on his part nearly cost her the very life he was trying to protect.

A dull-tipped arrow slammed directly into her chest as she struggled with Mitchell for the knife. A voice followed it from the darkness.

"The next one will be sharp."

The captive twisted Mitchell's wrist and nearly took the knife before a second arrow whizzed past her ear.

"That one was sharp," the same voice called from a new location. "I won't waste another."

Mitchell grunted as she tried to bend his fingers away and finally managed to wrap his left hand around her throat. "I'd listen to him," he begged hopefully. "It would be a waste of more than the arrow if he had to kill you."

The captive stopped her struggle and Mitchell saw her eyes start to swim. "I didn't want to have to do this," he murmured in apology as he held firm until she passed out. Throwing her over his shoulder, he crossed the rocks left between him and the shore and arrived finally just behind Zelenka.

The disembodied voice came from the behind his head, startling Mitchell as he spoke.

"She almost got you."

"Da," Zelenka piped up. "She's a fiery one."

"Good." Sheppard finished as he looked over his men. "What else have you brought me?"

"The queen will be visiting Nottingham in a fortnight," Lorne related as he handed a thin scroll of parchment over to his leader. "The sheriff's been bold enough to suggest that the entertainment at his nuptials will be the execution of the Sherwood rebels."

Sheppard's smile was dark, and for a moment Mitchell wondered what else was behind it. "Just whom does the dear sheriff intend to force himself upon?"

"The Lady Elizabeth," Mitchell reported as he watched the smile on Sheppard's face fade into a thin line.

"With the King gone..." Sheppard rubbed a hand through his long, permanently tousled black hair and sighed heavily. "Rusky, Scarlet, take her to my cabin and leave her there."

Zelenka and Lorne nodded and Lorne took the captive from Mitchell's shoulders and gently tossed her over his own.

Mitchell stayed with his friend and leader, watching as Sheppard stared moodily out into the forest. "Surely the lady won't allow it," he hoped as he felt the bruise the captive had left on his stomach.

"Sometimes we don't get to make the choices we'd like to," Sheppard mused as he listened to the water. "I'm surprised the queen agreed."

"She can't risk not knowing what her enemy is planning," Mitchell offered as he lifted his shirt to show the injuries the captive had inflicted in her struggle as he knelt to the cold water to cleanse them. "Even if it does put her in danger."

"Elizabeth..." Sheppard's voice caught for a moment uncharacteristically. "Is the king's cousin. Were anything to happen to the queen--"

"He's after the bloody throne," Mitchell realized with a start. That thought was as cold as the water against his broken skin. "But he can't expect the Lionheart not to return from the crusades?"

"Better men have failed," Sheppard reminded him darkly. "I'm only here because God saw fit that two 'godless' heathens took pity on me and helped me escape." His dark smile returned softly. "The Lionheart left no heir. Making a move to marry the queen would be too bold, but marrying Elizabeth would put him just close enough."

"What do you think our little thief knows?" Mitchell wondered as he pulled his tunic back on over his damp skin.

"You caught her on the edge of the forest closest to the Weir lands?"

"She was circling their walls," Mitchell explained as he tightened his belt over the soft tunic. "They're one of few families with anything left after the sheriff's taxes."

"It is a mystery then." Sheppard patted the shoulder of his right hand man and smiled a little. "I'm sure I'll get something out of her in the morning. Good work Cameron."

"Glad to do it. Good night, John." Mitchell watched the man he'd come to think of as his brother head for the rope ladders up to his cabin in the treetops and wondered how they were going to save Lady Elizabeth from her ominous wedding. John's face had been set and he had no doubt that a plan was already forming in his mind. The forest was quiet except for scattered laughter from the direction of the fire. All was as it should be.

* * *

"How dare you!" she snapped as she held the ornate dagger against his throat. "Is it the standard way of brigands and outlaws to give any woman they capture to their leader so he can ravage her?"

John looked up sheepishly as he knelt at her feet. He was shirtless and damp from his morning bath and she'd caught him off-guard as he climbed back up to change. "I'm afraid the only one who's in danger of being ravaged is me," he replied sheepishly as he dared a glance up at her. "You still have all your clothes."

Her hair was frame in a crown of short dark curls that had escaped from her braid. Her eyes were the kind of green that flashed like a jewel on the bottom of a pond. She was beautiful, but there was also something familiar in her face. There was something he should have known. Something he should have recognized.

"What do you intend to do now?" John asked as he continued to stare at her. He hadn't seen her face last night. Mitchell hadn't recognized her. "You do have the upper hand."

"Let me go," she demanded as she pressed the knife deeper into his skin. "Let me go and stop your planning before more people get hurt."

"I'm not planning..."

"You're always planning!" she interrupted angrily. "You're the infamous John Sheppard, you and your merry men are the reason the people have to suffer so. If you'd stop attacking Sheriff McKay."

"I can't do that."

"You have too," she pleaded as she took the knife from his throat and went to the window; searching for a way to escape. "He's not going to stop. You know that."

"I'll stop him." John got to his feet. Staring at the back of her neck, at the dark brown hair in a tight braid down her back he suddenly remembered the smell of burning hair. A little girl crying and running to her mother as he laughed and Daniel, his best friend, telling him to stop being so cruel. He looked at the line of her neck and his memory solidified. Touching her shoulder, he turned her away from the window and saw the tears in her eyes. She'd known before he did. "Elizabeth."

"You've changed so much," she whispered. "How could I believe it? Believe in you when all I remember is a spoiled bully who used to whip his horses and burn my hair as a child." She ran her hand along his cheek and cupped his chin. "When did you come home? How did you escape?"

"It's a long, dark, terrible story." John explained as he took her hand and kissed it lightly. "Sit, please, let me do this properly."

"No--" Elizabeth covered her mouth with her hand and sank to the bed as her tears dampened her eyelashes. "Not Daniel."

"He died free, saving my life and the lives of two who have become my friends." John began as he pulled a heavy golden ring from the chain around his neck. It was Daniel's signet, pressed into his hand just moments before Daniel had gone to his death. "He was not made for prison. We managed to escape but he was wounded, he never would have lived."

He pressed the ring into her trembling hands and watched as her lips started to quiver. "Daniel, oh, Daniel--" she covered her mouth and swallowed her grief before it overwhelmed her. "Why should I believe you?"

"I'm a different man than I was," he finished as he pulled himself to his feet and finished getting dressed. "I don't know if I can tell you, but I could show you what we have here."

"I'd like to." She stood quickly wiping her eyes and forcing a smile. "I'd like to see your world."

"Give me your hand." John pulled on a rope and freed the way down. Elizabeth's hand fit into his better than the curve of his bow and felt as familiar. He stepped into the loop of rope and let her step on top of his foot. Together they swung down with her hands around his neck. Her hands grasping his arm made his heart beat faster, stronger, as if it had finally found something that inspired him.

Children ran past, laughing as they dove around them and ran between the huts on the ground. His men ate breakfast in small groups. Some of them polished their armor or practiced with weapons. In the center of the village, a group had gathered to listen to Father Beckett's blessing.

"God did not intend for us to live an ascetic life," he intoned as he stroked his beard. "God did not want us to live as if we had already died in constant repentance and sorrow. We should celebrate and be grateful for each precious day that we have. Let us toast and begin this day with merriment and joyous celebration." Father Beckett, waved a hand over his audience and tapped the beer keg at his foot. "Who will drink with me?"

John accepted two wooden cups and handed one to Elizabeth. "He gets a little crabby when we say no." He wrapped her fingers around the cup and then added his own on top. "To morning I suppose?"

"To finding lost friends," Elizabeth suggested as she lifted the cup to her mouth. The beer was heavy and bitter with hops but John noticed her manage to smile and suck it down.

"Would you like to meet some new ones?" John brought her to the edge of the camp. He followed the sound of wood slamming against flesh and the sharp grunting of Ronon's breath as he fought with his opponent. This morning it was Vala and her black hair was already falling free of the leather she'd use to bind it to her head.

She shrieked and nearly lost her grip on her staff as Ronon drove forward. That shriek set him off guard and a lightning twist of her shoulder slammed the edge of her staff into his chest.

He laughed catching the end with his two huge hands before he flipped her onto the loose leaves and dirt of the clearing. The air came rushing out of her lungs in a painful gasp and her staff flew from her hands. Vala came up laughing through clenched teeth as sweat made clean streaks down her face in the dust. Ronon had been moving almost at full speed and John wasn't sure he would have lasted as long as she had.

Ronon's teeth flashed white in the dark skin of his face as he turned to introduce himself to Elizabeth. "Good morning Sheppard," his deep voice rumbled as he wiped his hands clean on his vest. "Also to you lady."

"Ronon Dex, this is Lady Elizabeth of the Jackson Weir," John introduced her as he watched her hold her hand out.

"My pleasure," Elizabeth curtsied politely as she'd been taught. John wondered if she'd ever seen a Moor. He couldn't read it in her diplomatic expression, but she was slightly afraid. Everyone was the first time they saw him.

Ronon bowed deeply with his hands folded in front of his chest but did not touch her hand. He turned his back to her as he lifted his dark blue cloak back over his muscled shoulders.

Vala took the leather out of her hair and shook it free in a limp mass down her back. "Daniel's sister," she noted as she lost her smile. Her eyes became darker and her soft lips became thin with grief. She did not extend her hand or say anything else.

"This is Vala Mal Doran." John left out that she had been Daniel's lover before they had been captured. Daniel had planned to marry her, even talked of bringing her home to England, regardless of what his noble family would think of a merchant woman.

"You have his kindness in your face," Vala offered as she wiped the sweat from her forehead with a rag and started to walk away. Elizabeth's eyes looked liquid and he wanted to reach out with a fingertip and wipe the tears away before they started in earnest.

Ronon gave them both a nod as he departed. John supposed he was going to bring his wife to meet Elizabeth. He couldn't help being proud that she'd made such an impression on his hulking bodyguard.

"Where did you find him?" she wondered as she bent her limber frame to lift the oak staff from the forest floor. "I've never seen anything as..."

"...I never fancied he was your type." John interrupted playfully watching her muscles move under the tight black suit. "I hear you put up quite a fight. Cameron..."

"...nearly had me," she admitted cheerfully knocking the other staff over to his feet. "But I would have prevailed entirely were it not for the other two of your men."

"I don't think I dare tell them that it took three of them to beat a woman," John teased lifting the staff and sizing her up over the end of it.

"I need you to lead me back home," Elizabeth requested as she swung the staff to test the balance. "I have a household to run, people depending on me."

John licked his lips and stretched his arms slightly. "I cannot let people who have seen my camp leave. How else could I keep all of this a secret?"

Elizabeth jabbed the end of her staff towards his chest and smiled to bait him. "If I beat you I go home," she suggested wickedly enjoying the idea of combat.

"If I beat you, you can't leave until I'm finished with you," John explained as he started to circle her.

Letting him slip closer in, Elizabeth was illuminated with the morning sun on her face. "That can't take too long," she poked back taking a wide swing at his head with the staff.

John blocked the blow and felt it resonate through the wood of his staff. His heart leapt in his chest, and his blood ran hot in the fury of combat. He often fought with his men to keep himself sharp. The lithe, petite Teyla beat him routinely and he was also accustomed to sparring with the taller Vala. He was not however, quite prepared for Elizabeth.

It was obvious by the way she moved that she'd wasted none of her time as a child training in the ladylike arts as he'd always thought. In fact, as he narrowly ducked a staff headed for his gut, Elizabeth must have taken all the lessons in combat her brother Daniel had tried to avoid in favor of time spent with her books.

Jon dodged, weaving his way out of her reach. When he fought Teyla, he depended on his height and the reach it afforded him to stay upright as long as he could. Vala fought more like an exceptionally limber man. Elizabeth shouldn't have known how to fight at all.

"When did you decide not to be a lady?" he grunted as he pulled his body out of reach a moment before her staff would have slammed into his chest.

"The moment all the gentlemen around me left their homes on some foolish-" Her staff sang through the air over his head. "Misguided-" She blocked a blow of his and saved herself from the reeling with the recoil in her arms. "Foolhardy attempt to steal a city in the middle of the desert from the people who have lived there for generations longer than I've called the weir my home."

John caught a lucky strike on her side and she dropped to one knee. Looking at her there on the ground he hesitated. John never would have paused on the battlefield. He never would have thought twice about finishing her off if she had been Ronon, Lorne or one of his men.

Elizabeth lunged upward, startling him with the speed and the ferocity of her attack. The butt of her staff hit him square in the chest and he dropped to the ground beside her. The wind was out of his chest, and he was struggling for breath as he lay in the dusty grass.

He waved a hand in her general direction. "Nicely done."

Elizabeth took it and held it long enough to convey her appreciation for the compliment. "How do I get home?" Her breath came raggedly as well and John took comfort in that.

"We'll take you across the lake," he suggested as he pulled himself up and wiped sweat from his face on his sleeve.

"So I won't know how to return," Elizabeth murmured in soft agreement. Her green eyes betrayed how much she understood of the danger they were all in. It was a difficult time for all of the Lionheart's subjects when he was away. Without the king, they were only a step from the likes of the sheriff stealing power.

"Even if someone tries to persuade you." John added darkly as he started the process of pulling himself to his feet. Elizabeth allowed him to lower a hand to her and he enjoyed the feel of the calluses on her fingers the small act of chivalry provided him.

"Hopefully such persuasions will neither be attempted or desired," she quipped back in an attempt to lighten his mood. Even her smile couldn't shake the cold loose from his chest. John had little faith in the Sheriff's ability to quell his ambition.

"There's no way I can convince you to stay?"

Elizabeth smiled again sagely before leaning closer. He could smell the sweat in her clothing and the feeling of her breath on his skin stirred him in a way he'd nearly forgotten how to be enticed. As he watched her pink tongue pass over her lips, his mind wondered what it would feel like to have those lips press against his.

Her staff fell from her grasp to bounce off his shoulder with a dull thud. Rubbing the insulted body part, John was shaken from his fantasies by the wicked gleam in her eye.

"Perhaps," she teased as she started towards the lake shore and the boat that would take her home. "But not today."

* * *

Elizabeth stretched in her chair and forced her mind once again back to her needlepoint. She hated the tedious exercise, but it was necessary to keep up the illusion that she was a good lady of the court and practiced in the ways of women. Her mind preferred to drift to the ways of men. A certain man in particular and the way his cocky voice rang out of the darkness the night before, along with his perfect shot.

Her muscles ached slightly from her duel with him that morning and her ribs sported an angry redness that was fading to a purple bruise. He had been good with a staff, nearly too good, but she'd beaten him. Elizabeth remembered the way the arrow had struck her dead over her heart in the dark and knew that his greater talents lay elsewhere.

Daniel's ring lived on her hand now. The heavy gold was a cool reminder that though John had returned to become the infamous sheppard of the wood, her brother had not. Her eyes stung with unshed tears for her gentle brother. Elizabeth stabbed her needle violently through the cloth and wished she could spare the time for grief.

There were children hiding in her halls that would have starved without her family's ability to provide. There were also farmers seeking sanctuary from their taxes and men accused of poaching the Sheriff's deer that all depended on the relative safety of the Jacksons' weir. Safety she was honor-bound to provide until her cousin the king returned.

Jabbing the needle against through the muslin, Elizabeth railed at her station. Had she been but born a man she would have no trouble holding her lands or even solidifying her house in support of the queen. However, she and the good queen were united in their inability to do much more than pray for the Lionheart's safe return and that they both were still in a position to receive him as king.

Charles, her good and loyal butler, knocked once and waited for her acknowledgment.

"What is it?" she asked gently surprised at his appearance at this hour of the night.

"The Sheriff of Nottingham is here for you mistress," he announced with the smallest of sneers on his face. It was a dislike only she knew him well enough to read.

Elizabeth nodded and sucked the drop of blood from the finger she hadn't felt herself pierce with the needle in her hand. "Send him in Charles."

Charles disappeared for a moment before returning with the sheriff. Though his plumed hat was in his hand, the sheriff still seemed uneasy as if uncomfortable in her presence.

"My Lord Sheriff," Elizabeth began politely. "To what do I owe the honor of this midnight visit?"

"It's only just after my dinner," the sheriff argued in an thinly disguised attempt to legitimize the hour of his arrival.

"You eat late."

"I am busy," the sheriff was quick to defend as he took the chair she hadn't offered him at her side. "The affairs of state frequently keep me working late into the night."

"I'm surprised you found time to visit my estates," Elizabeth mused as she watched his gaze travel the curves of her breasts beneath her bodice in a way that made her skin crawl. Smiling sweetly at him as she continued her needlepoint, she pretended not to notice his stare. "Since I am so far from your city."

"That is the purpose of my visit," Sheriff McKay took her bait. "I am here as your humble servant." The feather in his hat fluttered as he left his chair. "I came to entreat you-" He started to pace. "-No," he continued in a stronger tone, "to beg you to bring yourself and your household within the safety of the city walls."

He fell to his knees at her feet, burying one hand in the folds of her dress as the other sought her right hand. McKay brought it to his lips as he gazed up at her the way a dog looked at a particularly wonderful piece of meat. A shudder ran down her spine and left her skin crawling with invisible tension.

"If you were closer at hand," McKay insisted as he continued to hold hers. "I would be able to give your every need and desire my full attention." He lowered his lips to her hand and Elizabeth tried to think of any tactful way to get out of the situation.

Abruptly dropping her hand as if she'd becoming a stinging creature, McKay shot up to his feet. He took her hand again and wrenched it closer to the light.

"This is your brother's ring," he demanded as his grip tightened on her flesh.

Pulling her hand free, Elizabeth got to her feet with all the dignity she could muster. "What does that matter?"

McKay clutched it back, causing an involuntary gasp as he yanked her forward towards the candles on her table. "You did not have this when you came to into the city for Sunday mass."

"I choose not to wear it," Elizabeth tried to pull away but McKay held tight to her hand.

"Your brother was with the King!" He tore her from her chair with her hand clutched to his chest. Her needlepoint tumbled from the frame and hit the carpet at her feet. "How did you get this?"

McKay's grip was so tight on her hand that she could feel the tiny bones start to shudder. Elizabeth held tight to her needle and waited for a moment. Any way to get away from the sheriff before he hurt her. She wondered if she could kill him. If she could get away, get to John and his men before the sheriff's men got to her.

McKay tried to take the ring off her hand and get a better look at it. He tried to wench it from her finger and she stabbed him in the cheek. He squealed in pain and dropped her hand. Elizabeth started to run, reaching for something - anything- she could use for a weapon. A candlestick was the first thing she grabbed.

McKay's cries of pain had brought his men. Elizabeth smashed the candlestick on the head of the first and shoved him back into the second. She was starting to disarm the third guard when something impacted hard on the back of her head and everything went black.

* * *

"He took her," Charles sputtered through the dried blood on his lips. "The sheriff and his men, broke the door down and took her. She tried to fight them. I heard her struggling."

Cameron Mitchell shook his head towards his leader. He'd seen injuries like those of the butler before. The poor man had been beaten so badly that the blood on his lips was nearly black. He wouldn't survive much longer. In fact, it was lucky Charles had lived long enough to relate any of the story to them at all.

"She probably took out a few of them," Zelenka piped up supportively.

Sheppard couldn't smile and reassure his men. Sheriff McKay was desperate if he'd resorted to kidnapping a member of the royal family. Desperation bred the worst enemies. He watched as Elizabeth's butler drew his last breath. Lorne covered the poor man's face and Cameron watched his leader drag himself to his feet.

"Stackhouse, Lasky, stay behind and bury this man," Sheppard ordered as he wiped his hands clean on his breeches. "When we get back to camp I'll take volunteers."

Cameron knew this kind of quiet and so did the others. Since Sheppard's return they'd had something to fight for. Something to believe in and someone to follow instead of fighting as a mass of unwashed barbarians. They were strong beneath Sheppard's guidance and they all knew it. They felt it when the sheriff's men retreated from them like the cowards they were.

"You're going to lead the strike team," Sheppard informed his friend softy as they made their way back to camp. "He's broken the law, crossed a line. Ronon will help you and Teyla will be your eyes inside the city."

"And you?" Cameron watched something light Sheppard's eyes.

"I'm going to get some help."

* * *

John waited in the tall oak and felt the wind on his face. He adjusted his aim and waited. A full squad of guards surrounded the simple looking carriage. He pulled the first two arrows from the neat line on the branch in front of him and made his shot.

Two guards in the back fell silently from their horses. As the guards noticed the loss, two more fell. They lifted their bows and tried to find him but as they circled around the carriage four of them brought their horses directly into range. John twitched his foot on the trigger line and a huge log fell from the trees to take out the four of them.

They were dead when they hit the ground but John didn't have time for remorse. He took another rope and swung to his next perch. Two more guards fell to his arrows and a third turned his horse and began to flee. Another guard abandoned his charge and ran on foot into the trees. John felled another and the last of them broke rank.

When he dropped to the ground by the carriage, she had already started to leave it.

"The sheriff should consider finding better men," the female voice from the other side of the carriage began lightly. "Or paying them more. Heavy fabric rustled and John watched a pair of feet step out and onto the dirt wearing the loveliest shoes he had ever seen. A heavy brocade dress hid them from view and he turned to corner.

Queen Samantha had a reputation for being beautiful, but when he stopped and stared directly into her stunning blue eyes. Her long blonde hair hung in ringlets from her crown and she extended her hand with infinite politeness. "And you are?"

"John Sheppard," he hung his bow over his shoulder and kissed the back of her hand in quick surprise.

"Will you ransom me to the sheriff, Sheppard of the wood?" Queen Samantha wondered as she stared him down. He wondered how she saw the dirt on his face and the determination in his eyes.

"I'm afraid you misunderstand, your majesty," he dropped to his knees before her and tossed his bow to the Earth. "It is i who must ask a boon of you and your forgiveness for the manner in which I was forced to take to ask it."

"I'm afraid not even I weep for the loss of these men." The smallest of smiles danced on her lips. "What would you ask of me?"

John rested his hands on his knees and looked up into her angelic face. Even with her husband missing, the queen radiated a kind of peace that made him wonder how she carried through. "I need to get into town."

She laughed and it filled the clearing like music. "There are easier ways good Sheppard."

"Not for me." John admitted as he rose to his feet.

"Then you are in good company with my husband."

* * *

Cameron had the distinct pleasure of watching Sheriff McKay squirm when he delivered John's ultimatum. After knowing the sheriff had been pulling the strings of his cruel troops and taking the food from the tables of the families now hiding in the woods, watching him scowl warmed his heart.

"Who does he think he is?" McKay growled as he threw the scroll onto the floor.

Cameron watched it bounce away and didn't bother to hide his smile. Wearing it like a badge, he kept his hand on his sword hilt and waited for an answer.

"I asked you a question," McKay demanded as he left his seat and started down the steps towards the central hall. "Are you going to answer me? Or are you too barbaric to string the word together?"

"He thinks he's the good sheppard," Cameron answered calmly as he memorized the positioning of the guards. "He thinks there's a wolf in the fold and the lion is overdue sending that scraggly wolf running with his tail between his legs."

"Get out!" McKay hissed as he stood toe-to-toe with the lanky brigand in front of him.

"Without an answer?" Cameron clucked his tongue and shook his head.

McKay's dagger flashed up like a silver creature with a will of it's own. The point of it teased Cameron's throat.

"I'll be taking that as a no then?"

* * *

Elizabeth woke up with a pounding headache. Someone had cleaned the dried blood from her hair, but they hadn't bothered changing her clothes. The head wound had left her groggy and the room swam a little as she sat up. The walls around her were thick stone, but there were tapestries over them. That meant she wasn't in a prison, at least not yet.

She dragged herself out of the bed and paced the room. It was sparse, only a bed and a table with a pitcher of water. The bed had the trappings of the sheriff. The black and gold colors of his office were on the coverlet and she could feel his presence in the room.

She wrapped her arms over her chest and moved her hand to lift the cup. It wasn't heavy enough to do much damage, but the pitcher might. It was heavy crockery and if she broke it she might have a weapon. She poured the cup full of water and drank quickly. Elizabeth knew she'd need her strength. Filling the glass again, she emptied it and felt the water settle cold into her stomach.

She poured some of the water into the cup and set it aside. Pouring the rest of the pitcher onto the floor in the fireplace, Elizabeth lifted the empty pitcher and smashed in onto the stone as hard as she could. Retreating away, she waited by the doorway for someone to arrive and question her, but no one came. One of the larger shards seemed sharp enough as she ran it over her arm.

Kneeling on the hearth she tore the hem of her petticoat and removed a long strip. Wrapping that around the shard, Elizabeth tucked it away into her skirts and had a knife. Then she just had to wait. The window was high and small but she couldn't tell how long she had been unconscious. The hallway seemed dark beneath her door and she assumed it was still night.

The sheriff might wait until morning. It was actually comforting that he wasn't with her now. Being captive in the dark of night was a less tenuous situation when she was alone. He hadn't given her any candles and the only option in the grey darkness was to return to the bed and wait for someone or something to happen. Her right hand remained tight around the knife as she watched the light grow brighter in the window.

Her mind kept drifting to John and the way he'd looked at her. Elizabeth remembered the strength in his eyes and the deep caring beneath it. The mocking glint she knew and associated with him had faded into something else. She never would have admitted it, but picturing his quiet smile when she'd beaten him was comforting. For the first time after her brother had left her, she no longer felt alone.

* * *

"We don't look like guards," Father Beckett whispered nervously to Zelenka as he tugged at his armor. "Wouldn't guards be more..."

"Hush now," Zelenka elbowed him as he fell into step around the carriage. "Guards would be more silent."

Lorne was ahead of them, looking more like a regal bodyguard than anyone else. Ronon walked in front of him wearing an elaborate cloak that hid his face. He wore the shield of the king. The golden lion was rampant in a field of red on the black velvet. Queen Samantha walked in front of him. She'd changed her clothes in the secret camp and the silks she'd discarded were fine enough to feed them for months.

Her long blonde hair was free down her back and she wore a simple black frock that only made her look more beautiful. When they'd reached the camp she'd gone into a cabin with Teyla looking like a divine creature and emerged a woman. Her eyes were red and her face was drawn tight as if she'd cried all the tears she had. She'd removed all her jewelry but her wedding ring. Her pearl necklace alone would buy new livestock for an entire village and she'd laughed as the children played with her earrings.

Directly beside her was the carriage. All the carpenters in hiding had worked all night on the casket. Vala had directed them in the style of the east. It was draped in battered armor and flanked by a sword. The sword was John's father's. He'd been loathe to part with it, but it was the finest in camp. Queen Samantha had promised the sheriff had never been close enough to her husband to know the difference.

They'd sent messengers ahead and made them promise to only let the sheriff know what all of England dreading they'd someday hear. With any luck it would work. McKay would fall into John's plan and everything that hung that hung by a thread would survive.

* * *

When the hinges of her door creaked open it was all Elizabeth could do not to leap from the bed and take her chances with the first person through the door. As soon as she recognized the face, she wished she had moved to slit his throat.

"Good morning lady," McKay offered with his best smile. "I trust you slept well."

"Aside from the beating your men gave me, I slept very well" Elizabeth retorted without a trace of humor. "I have to admit I'm surprised you decided to face me again. I seem to remember having the upper hand."

McKay laughed and the sound crept into her stomach and grew cold. There was triumph in his hard eyes and she hated the look of it. "I suppose you haven't heard the news in this little room," he offered as he held up his arm. "Perhaps you'd join me for a walk before your breakfast?"

Though she was loathe to touch him, she needed to get a bearing on her surroundings. Elizabeth let McKay take her hand and followed him out into the stone corridor. She was being kept in one of the towers as she'd feared. She was trapped in one of the most secure places in all of England and depending on only herself for freedom.

Her eyes stung as McKay walked her out into the bright sunlight. Her head was still aching from the blow she'd received and the sun shot through her eyes like tiny daggers. As they struggled to adjust, McKay led her to the edge of the rampart overlooking the courtyard. Elizabeth heard the sound of booted feet and horses. Wheels creaked across stone as well and she tried to place where she'd heard that sound.

Her eyes brought the sight into focus and the tears in her lashes no longer had anything to do with the sun. It only took a moment to recognize what was before her. The golden head in the black dress was the queen. The dark figure at her side was Teal'c, the hulking bodyguard who never left the Lionheart's side. On the cart, a simple horse driven cart, was the king of England.

Black pennants were already going up all over Nottingham castle and the castle trumpets were beginning to sound the call to mourning. The guards remained around the body in the courtyard, waiting with their king until he could be buried.

"No," she gasped before she could censor the outburst. "No--"

"Teal'c found the queen on her way here," McKay explained as softly as he could. His forced gentleness couldn't cover the ambition that burned naked in his eyes. "We're already starting making plans."

Elizabeth didn't dare cry. Not in front of him and certainly not in this place.

"I know it's not the time," McKay began as she watched his eyes change to something more desperate. "In fact, it's probably the last thing on your mind in your grief for your cousin..."

She started to shake her head, feeling the make-shift knife in her hand and wishing she could get away with using it. There were too many guards, too many variables and she was too likely to be killed before anyone asked questions.

"I want you to think about..." McKay started and swallowed quickly before he finished. "...we could make things better. Your dedication, your kindness and your caring. We could heal this country. Lead them through darkness."

Elizabeth stepped back as if she'd been struck. Surprise resonated through her like a physical blow had been dealt. He couldn't be serious. John, her rebellious mind kept returning to John, hadn't wanted her to leave. He'd suspected something but what could he do? The king was dead and the country would fall into chaos without a leader.

"I can't marry you," she sputtered without thinking. Now it was the sheriff who paled. At first she thought it was shock, but as she watched his hands tighten into fists Elizabeth realized it was anger. "I won't give you that kind of power."

"I had hoped--" McKay broke off as he grabbed her face. His fingers dug into her skin as he stared at her with naked contempt. "No matter." He snapped his fingers and his men hurried to obey.

A door opened on the rampart and a figure was thrust out. She fell forward, tripping to the flagstones with a cry of pain as her knees hit the stone. Elizabeth struggled out of McKay's grip and went to help the woman. Her hands took Elizabeth's and held on for dear life as she got to her feet. Queen Samantha stared the sheriff down with regal disdain but her hands were trembling within Elizabeth's.

"I'm afraid the queen was just too torn up after her husbands death," McKay's dagger was out in his hand as he spoke. He ran the blade over his fingers as he basked in the pain on Elizabeth's face. "She said she needed some air and got up to the rampart before I could stop her."

The dagger flashed and he thrust it past Samantha's ear.

"Get over here," he ordered cruelly. "Near the edge."

"Don't do this," Elizabeth begged as she squeezed the queen's hand in reassurance. Taking her right hand away, she made her grip tight on the shard.

"Say you'll marry me and the queen can mourn her husband in the countryside for the rest of her days," McKay promised as he ran his dagger over Samantha's neck towards her breasts. "Make this difficult and you can join her." He shoved Elizabeth back and she was ready for him.

Slamming the shard of pottery as hard as she could into his neck, she felt triumph as his blood started to run over her fingers. He grabbed it out and struck her across the face before he tossed it away. Unprepared for the blow, Elizabeth fell back against the wall and saw stars in her vision as she hit.

The blood wasn't enough; she hadn't gotten deep enough. McKay grabbed the queen and pulled her to the edge. Holding the dagger so tightly against Samantha's neck that he too drew her blood.

"Say yes," McKay demanded as he pressed his hostage closer to the edge. "Say it or she falls screaming to the stone beside her worthless, charity-loving husband."

There was no fear in the eyes of the queen. She neither pleaded with McKay, nor begged Elizabeth for help. Elizabeth could feel the wind around them and taste the morning in the air.

She pulled herself to her feet, fighting the pounding ache in her head as she moved. In the courtyard below something exploded. A second, then a third explosion followed and the courtyard became hell. Guards rushed in as the guards around the casket lowered their weapons against the sheriff's army. Arrows started to fly past her head and the smell of smoke started to block out the fog.

"No one will see me push her," McKay reminded Elizabeth as he pulled Samantha's hair enough to make her cry out in pain. "They won't even find her untl this little uprising is over. I can even blame the rebels. Say the good sheppard of Sherwood killed the queen in a crossfire."

"I--" Elizabeth's mouth tasted like ash as she tried to speak. Something behind McKay, something green and moving caught her eye.

John stood across from her on the rampart overlooking other side of the courtyard. His bow was lifted to his face in the impossible shot. It was too far to make out his face, but she knew he was looking at her. Somehow, Elizabeth knew what he needed her to do. The queen was in the way. She was too close to the edge.

"I'll marry you," Elizabeth promised softly. She had to nod before McKay realized he'd won.

Across the courtyard, John drew back his bow. She could see his arm going as taunt as the string.

"Elizabeth--" McKay didn't get to finish. The queen jabbed her elbow into his stomach as hard as she could manage and was thrust aside hard as he realized it was a lie. His face went from triumph to hatred as he reached for the dagger her kept in his boot. He turned on the queen, eyes blazing in fury.

Elizabeth darted into the way. Even with her head spinning, she knew how to control her body. She put herself between the flashing steel and the queen's unprotected back.

Steel hissed, an arrow screamed and blood misted the air before falling in tiny droplets onto the stone below.

* * *

Epilogue

The leaves were falling around them. Father Beckett raised his hands for silence and turned to the crowd. "As a priest I can tell you there are some duties you perform so often for the wrong reasons that you wonder if the good Lord is listening at all."

His eyes ran seriously over the crowd before they rested solidly on John's drawn expression.

"But there are also duties that make your heart leap at the opportunity to do the Lord's work." Beckett raised his hands to the heavens and burst into a smile. "This is one of those days and I thank the heavenly Father for the chance to stand here with these two hearts in my hands."

There were leaves in Elizabeth's hair and she was smiling as she tried not to laugh at John's nervousness. She knew the father was speaking but it mattered little what he said. What mattered instead were the calloused hands wrapped around her own and the soft hazel eyes staring into her soul.

Elizabeth murmured her vows in a trance, forgetting the power of words and losing herself in the lips moving slowly in response to her own. Those lips were getting closer. The crowd was starting to cheer and her heart was fluttering in her throat. John brought their entwined hands to his chest and the moment expanded until all around them was silence.

The people's hands in the air in celebration, the horses riding into the clearing; none of it mattered because she was on her toes to kiss him.

"Hold!" The one voice in the world that could have stopped that moment resonated from behind a gilt helmet as the speaker leapt from his horse. "I have not blessed this union."

John opened his mouth and closed it again dumbly before he fell to his knees before his king.

"Your majesty," Elizabeth began as everyone around her fell to the forest floor in reverence. She tried to think of some way to beg his forgiveness or at least welcome him home.

Fabric rustled and footsteps tore through the leaves. A body encased in a simple brown dress threw her arms around the armored neck of the king and anything Elizabeth would have said was no longer relevant. Queen Samantha had her husband back after years of war and doubt and nothing was going to ruin that moment.

Elizabeth reached down to lift her new husband to his feet. He refused to meet her eyes until she cupped his chin. "You no longer need to kneel," she reminded him as she stroked his cheek. "You're his kin now."

A hand hit John's shoulder in congratulations and he turned to stare into the laughing eyes of the Lionheart. "On your wedding day you should kneel to no man," the king intoned as he stole a kiss on his cousin's cheek. "You look beautiful Elizabeth."

Staring into the gently confused eyes of her husband, Elizabeth let her smile dimple her face. "I'm in love."

The king felt himself be pulled aside as Elizabeth began to kiss her husband. When the kiss continued, he wrapped his arm around his queen and grinned wickedly. "She does seem to be rather happy."

"Only rather?" Samantha teased as she beamed at him.

The King turned to face the crowd and waved them to their feet. "Come on you lot, someone needs to hand me an ale and tell me just how my cousin got involved with you rabble."

"Jack," Samantha whispered in his ear through the sound of cheering around them. "She saved my life."

"Then I'll buy her the ale," Jack offered as he kissed her forehead. "Maybe even give her a castle." Musing as he turned to see Elizabeth and John still engrossed in a kiss, he shook his head and grabbed them both by the shoulder. "Come along you two. I hear there's a celebration to be had."


End file.
